Spontaneous Regeneration
by FemaleChauvinist
Summary: Bruce Kelly thinks of himself as a space ranger, coming in to save the day and leaving without accepting thanks or aid. But when for once he needs medical care, his ship is going to make sure he gets it.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I got a new computer with a DVD drive, so now I can watch Deep Space Nine! Only, I'm hesitant now because I like the way I write Bashir, and I don't want it to change either on purpose or subconsciously when I see the "real" one… Of course some things I already know I changed and I don't care, so I guess I'm more concerned about the subconscious part, or about seeing something I got wrong and like the real one better, so I have to go back and change the stories I've already written. I might wait until after I write my main alternate history story where Bashir's enhancements are discovered, so I don't have the real story affecting mine, although I also would kind of like to have Dr Zimmerman's character down before I write that!**

 **I suppose it's going to end up being like a story I found where the summary made it sound like something I would really like, but I was really hesitant to read it because it sounded too close to my story, and I was afraid I would then feel like I was copying. But I read it, and it turned out to be one of my favorites (First Considerations, by Gabrielle Lawson), and not all that close to mine after all. So I guess I should just get the DVDs and stop worrying about it! After all, I don't have to change anything if I don't want to. Barbie**

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** While the attempt has been made to be medically accurate, some artistic license has been taken, and statements made by Dr Bashir are not to be regarded as authoritative.

Trylomase is a product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to an actual drug and/or chemical name is unintentional.

The Saratarian race and the planet Mallus Seven are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to the names of canon Star Trek races/planets is unintentional. Recognizable characters and plotlines are the property of Paramount and Viacom; all original characters and story © 2016 FemaleChauvinist.

 _Do not post without permission. Do not copy/print without including the above disclaimer in its entirety._

 **Prologue**

It was ironic, Bruce mused in his last conscious moment before the doctor's hypospray took effect. All the dangerous situations he had been in, emerging with barely a scratch, and now he had been climbing the ladder to his ship when he turned to speak to someone below. Losing his grip, he had slipped and fallen, and now here he was, lying in a hospital bed with a broken arm. _Silver's never going to let me hear the end of it,_ he thought vaguely, and drifted into unconsciousness.

Modern surgical and regenerative techniques had drastically reduced the amount of time needed to heal from even the worst injuries, and by the next day the doctor was signing for his release. "I don't see any problem with you resuming your voyage today," he assured him. "Your arm is essentially as good as new, though you may not have full strength yet. Just give it light to moderate exercise, and don't push yourself if there's any pain."

Bruce shrugged, flexing his elbow. "Feels fine to me, Doc; thanks."

He whistled softly as he crossed the spaceport back to his ship, climbing the ladder with care. "And it's hi-ho, Silver; away," he murmured under his breath.

 **First chapter coming next week! (The reason I was able to get a new computer is that I now have a job as a cashier at our local grocery store, and since my hours are different each week, I may not always be able to post on the same day anymore. Lately I've had time when I took my books back to the library on Thursday, but if my day off was before Thursday I'd probably post then just in case there wasn't time. Barbie)**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	2. Space Ranger

**Chapter One: Space Ranger**

"You are a day and a half late," Silver informed him as he slid into the pilot's seat and powered up the control panel.

Bruce grinned. "Afraid I stood you up for another vessel?" he teased.

"I was concerned you might have run into danger," Silver said as calmly as ever. Her slightly metallic voice never betrayed any emotion, but Bruce felt he had learned to read her pretty well in the years she had been both his ship and his first officer. He always felt he had been especially clever in naming her; both for the legendary silver bullet and for the Lone Ranger's horse in old Earth 2-ds and audios.

"I fell and broke my arm, but the doctor says I'm fine now," he assured her.

"I am glad to hear it. Next time perhaps you could be so kind as to inform me of the cause of the delay."

Bruce patted the control board. "Sorry to worry you, Silvie, but the doc had me a little doped up to be sending messages; even if I'd asked to, they probably would have thought I was delirious or something, asking to send a message to my ship."

The background hum of the ship grew louder for a moment, Silver's equivalent of a snort, and Bruce chuckled. "I know, Silvie-girl; they don't know anything about a ship like you. Come on; let's get out of here and find someone to rescue."

"Command acknowledged," Silver responded, and Bruce fancied he heard the faintest hint of anticipation in her voice.

He asked and received clearance from the spaceport officials, and with his hands on the controls they had soon left the station behind them.

"Which way, Captain?"

Bruce grinned and closed his eyes, stabbing a finger at the star map on his console. "Let's go…thataway. Warp two, and start scanning for SOS signals."

His favorite costume reminiscent of an old Earth cowboy, he liked to think of himself as a kind of space ranger, appearing seemingly from nowhere to aid people in distress, and then disappearing again without giving his name. He and Silver had helped to turn the tide of battles between much larger ships; she was often small enough to go unnoticed on enemy scanners, and if they did see her they usually underestimated her firepower and Bruce's skill at the controls.

He scratched his arm absently, not even realizing what he was doing until Silver questioned him. "Are you all right, Captain?"

"What? Oh, yes; I'm fine. I suppose my arm's still healing; it itches a bit, that's all."

"I do not understand _itches_."

Bruce grinned. "It's an unpleasant sensation, but not as bad as pain. I'm fine, really."

"I take your word for it," she said grudgingly.

 **oOo**

It was Silver who noticed Bruce's increased fatigue and lack of appetite; the fact that he tended to avoid using his left arm. He shrugged off her concern at first, insisting that the doctor had told him the arm might be sore for a few days; that he was simply too busy to remember to eat; that he dozed off at the controls only because he hadn't slept well the night before.

But when he reached across the control board only to find that his elbow refused to bend at all, he realized with a shock of fear what he had known all along but had been denying even to himself; something was wrong.

He dropped into the seat, white-faced, cradling the arm with his other hand.

"Captain?" Silver queried.

"You — were right, Silver," he gasped. "My arm — it hasn't healed right." He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment, dreading what he knew he had to do. He much preferred giving help to asking it, and he hated hospitals more than almost anything else he could think of. "What's the nearest inhabited world?"

"We could make the spaceport in three point seven nine hours at warp eight," Silver suggested.

"I said _world_ , Silver," Bruce reminded her testily. "I'm not going back where they botched up the job in the first place."

"Very well," Silver acquiesced. "Laying in a course for Mallus Seven at warp eight; estimated time of arrival twenty-six hours from now. Why don't you go to your bunk?"

"Just who's the captain here, Silvie?" Bruce asked wryly.

"Lifeforms need rest when their bodies are damaged," Silver pointed out. "I do not need your aid for a straight course; go to bed."

Bruce sighed, getting to his feet. "Yes, _Mother_ Silvie. I'll be reading in my bunk if you need me — though sometimes I wonder if you ever really do."

Silver merely hummed in response, and Bruce grimaced to himself; she wasn't "human" enough to give even a polite denial. Still, as he lay in his bunk with a sigh of relief, carefully favoring his arm, he had to admit it was nice to have someone in control who could keep going indefinitely. Switching on his datapadd, he was soon lost in an Old Earth Western full of cowboys and gunfights and lone Texas Rangers riding in to save the day against incredible odds.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	3. SOS

**Chapter Two: SOS**

Silver waited until her monitors showed Bruce to have fallen asleep before beginning wide-sweep sensor scans for any large ship in the area. Bruce might insist Mallus Seven was close enough, but for him to agree to accept aid at all, she knew he had to be feeling worse than he would admit.

And lifeforms weren't like ships, that could generally be salvaged and repaired as long as they hadn't been blown completely to bits. Though she didn't fully understand it, she knew that once humans passed the point they called _death_ , there was no getting them back. She had no idea how close her captain might be to that point, but she was taking no chances.

An hour into her journey, her scans picked up a large starship. She made no move at first, waiting until her sensors could assure her it wasn't an enemy. Starfleet issue, she realized with satisfaction. It could be stolen and manned by enemy crewmembers — she and Bruce had dealt with that scenario enough to make her cautious — but the likelihood was very small.

Smoothly changing to an intercept course, she sent out a hail.

 **oOo**

"We're being hailed, sir," Lieutenant Jadzia Dax announced on the bridge of the _Defiant_.

"By whom?" Captain Benjamin Sisko asked a little tensely; they were close to the territory of a race that according to their mood had been at times either friendly or hostile to Starfleet.

"Small private vessel; no recognizable affiliation."

"Put it on visual and open the channel."

"Very good, sir."

As the image appeared on his screen, Sisko blinked; it showed what was apparently an empty bridge. "This is Captain Benjamin Sisko of the _U.S.S. Defiant_ ; please identify yourself."

"I am the private craft _Silver Bullet_ ," came the instant reply in a computerized voice.

"Friend or foe?"

"Friend," the ship responded, though Sisko realized that that meant little; he had no way of knowing if it was the truth.

" _Silver Bullet_ , are you unmanned?"

"You may call me Silver. My captain is in his quarters; he has been damaged. Do you have a doctor on board your vessel?"

"Yes. How bad is your captain?"

"Let me call him to the bridge to explain; I do not fully understand the mechanical workings of humans."

"Very well," Sisko agreed.

 **oOo**

The alert tone intruded into Bruce's sleep, and at first he attempted to roll over and ignore it. Then came Silver's insistent voice; "Captain to the bridge; repeat, captain to the bridge."

"Don't tell me you found an SOS _now_ ," he groaned, acknowledging that he didn't feel at all up to riding in and saving the day.

"No, sir," Silver assured him. "I have a channel open with a Starfleet vessel who has a doctor on board."

Bruce grimaced slightly, standing slowly and leaning against the wall with his good arm. "Don't tell me _you_ sent out an SOS, Silver."

"No, sir," she said, sounding just affronted enough for him to realize he wasn't far from the truth. "But her captain is waiting to speak with you and find out where you were damaged."

Bruce smiled slightly at her choice of words. "I'm on my way," He rubbed his shoulder, then supported the now completely useless arm with his other hand as he made his way to the bridge.

"Visuals, Silver," he commanded as he slid into the captain's chair. A dark-skinned face appeared on the screen, the eyes showing concern. "I'm Captain Bruce Kelly," he introduced himself briefly.

"Captain Benjamin Sisko," the other man returned. "Your…ship told me you'd been…damaged?"

Bruce gave a dry chuckle. "I suppose that's an accurate enough way to describe it," he admitted. "I broke my arm several days ago now; I had it treated and got a doctor's permission to leave, but now it seems to be…freezing up. Silver says you have a doctor on board?"

"Yes. Come over to my ship, and he'll be waiting to treat you."

"Thank you," Bruce replied, deciding not to admit to Silver the relief he felt that he wouldn't have to wait until Mallus Seven.

"Will you be able to dock one-handed, or should I use a tractor beam?"

Bruce gave him a quick half smile. "Silver can handle it. You can have your navigator give her all the necessary coordinates." He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes and wondering why he felt no more rested after his nap than before. "First Officer, you have the conn."

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	4. Examination

**Chapter Three: Examination**

Bruce shook his head to clear it at Silver's calm announcement that they had docked, well aware that he had dozed off more than once in the hour it had taken Silver to join the other ship.

"Don't leave me waiting this time," Silver warned as Bruce stood to leave the bridge.

He smiled, recognizing the veiled request for him to tell her the doctor's prognosis as soon as he knew. "Don't worry about me, Silver-girl; I'll always come back to you," he replied lightly.

He exited his ship carefully, thinking wryly that the last thing he needed was to fall and break his other arm. When he could spare his concentration to look up, he saw that a slim young man with the blue shoulder panels of sciences and medicine stood in the docking bay to meet him.

Seeing Bruce's attention on him, the man smiled and stepped forward. "I'm Dr Julian Bashir," he introduced himself.

"Bruce Kelly," he responded, offering his hand.

The doctor's eyes narrowed slightly in concentration. "Unless I miss my guess, you're Saratarian," he said in some puzzlement.

"That's right," Bruce said, sounding slightly surprised; few people could visually distinguish between Saratarians and Earth humans.

"Half Terran?" Bashir questioned.

Bruce chuckled, suddenly understanding the source of his confusion. "No. Most races can't pronounce Saratarian names; I liked Bruce Kelly and had it legally changed."

"Ah," Julian nodded in understanding. "Follow me; the sickbay is this way. Unless you need me to call a stretcher?" He eyed Bruce sharply up and down, but Bruce shook his head. "No; I'm fine."

" _Fine_ isn't the word I'd use," Dr Bashir muttered, observing from the corner of his eye how Bruce cradled his arm as they started down the corridor.

Bruce flushed, but pretended he hadn't heard.

"Here we are," Dr Bashir announced cheerfully, stepping through the door as it slid silently into the wall.

Bruce followed hesitantly, wishing he was safely on board Silver and away from this place. What made Silver so sure this doctor was any better than the one who had originally treated him, anyway?

"Have a seat here," the doctor invited, indicating an exam table; Bruce jumped, startled out of his reverie, and then slowly did as he was asked.

"So, the captain tells me you had a broken arm?" Bashir questioned, running a tricorder scan. "Your vitals look good; no fever," he murmured.

"Yeah…four days ago now."

"Is that in Saratarian time?"

"No; Silver and I keep Earth Standard."

Bashir nodded. "So you had it treated, and then first noticed a problem when?"

"It was itchy almost immediately, but I figured that was normal. But I've been really tired, and today I couldn't move my arm at all."

"How has your appetite been?"

Bruce shrugged. "Not very good, I guess."

"Do you have copies of the original scans of the injury?"

"No; Silver may. Probably not, though," he added, reconsidering; "she didn't even know about the injury until I got back."

"Can you show me where the break was, then?"

"Here and here, I think," Bruce said, lightly indicating the places with his fingers.

"Both bones?"

"I…really don't know. The doctor said it was a bad break…but I was too out of it before the repair to really care about the details, and then afterward it had been fixed, so it didn't matter."

"All right. I can contact the hospital to find out if I really need to, but if my suspicions are right, that won't be necessary. Are you in any pain?"

"It hurts sometimes, but not too bad. My shoulder aches a little now, but I don't know if that's from the injury or just sore muscles from holding my arm at an awkward angle."

"Most likely," Dr Bashir agreed. "Any other discomfort?"

"My hand's a bit numb and tingly," Bruce admitted.

"Compression of the nerves," the doctor murmured, as if to himself. "So your elbow is actually locked in position; it's not just too painful to move?"

"Yeah."

"I'm going to see if I can bend it. I won't force it, and I want you to let me know immediately if what I'm doing hurts."

Bruce nodded. "All right." He couldn't help steeling himself, but as promised the doctor's hands were gentle as he took hold of Bruce's arm, his fingers lightly pressing into the inside of his elbow as he attempted to bend the joint. Before the pressure had even begun to get uncomfortable, Dr Bashir abandoned the attempt. "It's locked, all right," he said lightly. "Let me help you get your shirt off; I need to scan your arm, and it will be clearer with no fabric in the way."

"You don't have to cut it off, do you?" Bruce asked anxiously. "I already lost one shirt when I first broke my arm."

Bashir chuckled. "No, it fastens in the front, so if we take it off the other arm first, I should be able to work it down easily enough."

Bruce assisted as best he could, shivering slightly as the garment was removed.

"Cold?" Dr Bashir questioned in concern.

"No…not really." Bruce wouldn't admit that he felt more vulnerable now, as if the shirt had afforded him some kind of protection.

"All right; I want you to lay your arm up here," Dr Bashir said, wheeling over a table. Bruce lifted his arm clumsily, forced to assist with the other hand but glad the doctor had let him do it himself.

Bashir adjusted the height of the table until it was at comfortable shoulder level, then swung out a scanning bar. "Just hold your arm still; this will only take a minute."

The blue light of the scanner washed over his arm, Dr Bashir's eyes focused on the image on the monitor over Bruce's head, and then he was pushing it aside and lowering the table. "I'll need another one in a minute, but you can relax for now. Here." He draped Bruce's shirt over his shoulders, then sat in front of him. "Tell me, was this the first time any type of regenerators have been used on you?"

"I think so; if not, it was when I was too young to remember."

"I suppose you've injured yourself in the past, if not this badly; have you always healed quickly?"

"I…don't know; I guess so," Bruce stammered. "I mean, when I get hurt it heals; it never occurred to me to wonder if it was faster than normal. There was one time, though…I thought for once I was going to have to accept medical attention, but the bleeding stopped in five minutes and within a week there was just a pink line; I don't even have a scar now."

"I hope you at least cleaned it yourself," Bashir said mildly.

Bruce shrugged, not meeting the doctor's eyes. "Like I said, it healed fine; didn't get infected or anything."

Dr Bashir shook his head, but chose not to dwell on a past event. "I need to get a blood sample from each arm, and then we'll do that second scan so I can tell you definitely what's wrong."

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	5. Treatment

**Chapter Four: Treatment**

Dr Bashir helped Bruce back into his shirt, then spent several minutes looking over the results of the scans and blood tests.

"It appears you have a condition known as hyper-acute cell regrowth pattern," he said finally. He grinned. "Or in layman's terms, your body heals itself very quickly."

Bruce frowned. "But that should be good, shouldn't it?"

"Normally, yes," Bashir agreed. "As you've experienced, it can save many trips to the doctor. The problem comes when you do go to the doctor and a regenerator is used, triggering a runaway cell regrowth effect."

"I'm not sure I understand," Bruce admitted.

"Your body normally heals itself in a way that mimics the effect of a regenerator in most people," Dr Bashir explained. "So when a regenerator _is_ used to stimulate rapid healing, the cells begin growing out of control, and fail to stop when the regenerator is turned off."

Bruce's face paled. "But that's cancer, isn't it?"

"Not in this case," Bashir assured him quickly. "The growths are benign rather than malignant, but not always harmless. In your case, after the osteo-regenerator was used to seal the break, your body continued to produce new bone, eventually engulfing the elbow joint and locking it into position. Here, let me show you the scans." He switched on a monitor within Bruce's view and brought up the first of the scans. "This white area is bone," he explained.

Bruce grimaced at the grotesque appearance and half unconsciously felt his elbow, sensing the strange shape of the bone within now that it had been pointed out.

"Even with so short a time between scans, there's a discernable difference in the second one," Bashir continued, bringing it up on the screen with the changes highlighted.

Bruce looked away, unable to stomach the images any longer. "Why didn't they realize I had this condition at the spaceport hospital?" he whispered.

"No reason they should," Bashir said mildly, switching off the screen. "It can occur in almost any species, but it's very rare. There's a slightly higher incidence among Saratarians, but not enough to warrant screening for it."

"But the scans — shouldn't the doctor have seen —?"

"He probably took one scan before regeneration to see how bad the break was, and one afterward to be sure it had healed correctly, which is normally proper procedure, but wouldn't alert him to this condition. So if you were thinking of suing for malpractice, I really don't think you have grounds."

Bruce shook his head almost dazedly. "No…I just… I suppose the more important question is whether you can fix my arm."

"And the answer is yes," Bashir assured him. "I'm going to inject drugs to slow the 'healing,' and then you'll need surgery to remove the excess bone."

"And…you can do that for me?"

Dr Bashir grinned. "Of course. Ask anyone on this ship, and they'll tell you I'm a first-class surgeon."

Bruce chuckled. "I think I'll just take your word for it. "

The doctor turned to prepare a hypospray, then approached Bruce. "Here's the first dose," he said lightly, pushing up Bruce's sleeve and injecting it with a deft touch. "I'll be monitoring you closely over the next few days, but let me know immediately if you experience any new symptoms; it can be hard to slow abnormal 'healing' without interfering with your body's normal healing process. But you don't need to stay in sickbay the whole time; I'll show you to guest quarters."

"I'll have to get my things off Silver."

"Of course," Bashir agreed. He watched as Bruce again cradled his elbow. "I wish I could give you a sling," he said apologetically, "but the position your arm was in when it 'froze' would make that too awkward."

"That's all right. I wouldn't mind something for my aching shoulder, though," he admitted.

"I can give you a warm massage once we get to your quarters," Bashir promised. "Unfortunately, any pain relievers I could give you would interact with the trylomase you're already on."

"I'll take the massage, then," Bruce agreed.

Bashir gave him a concerned glance, but merely nodded, his years of medical practice perhaps letting him sense intuitively what Bruce's acceptance of the offered aid spoke about his level of discomfort.

 **oOo**

"After you," Bruce gestured, indicating Silver's ladder.

"Oh, no," Bashir insisted. "Your natural healing's going to be all messed up from the medication and I don't dare use a regenerator on you; I'm staying behind you so I can be sure you don't fall and break the other arm."

Bruce flushed, despite the doctor's half teasing tone and the fact that he had thought much the same thing himself earlier.

"Silver, this is Dr Julian Bashir," he introduced as the doctor stepped on board. "Doctor, my faithful vessel and first officer, _Silver Bullet_."

Bashir grinned. "Pleased to meet you, Silver," he acknowledged, wondering bemusedly about the protocol of being introduced to a space ship. You couldn't shake hands, certainly.

"Likewise. Have you repaired the damage to the captain?"

Bashir reached to pat a bulkhead, sensing or imagining real concern behind the even tone of the words. "I will, Silver," he promised. "I'll make him as good as new."

"We're just on board to get my things, Silver," Bruce told her. "Doc wants me to stay on board his ship for a few days."

"Very well," Silver agreed.

"Come on," Bruce said to Bashir. "I hate to impose, but I'm going to need your two good hands to carry my things."

"I don't mind," Bashir assured him. "Bring whatever you want; I'll send someone back for the rest if I can't do it in one trip."

"After you this time?" Bruce asked dryly as they reached the exit ladder.

Bashir chuckled. "You have me figured out…let me get all the way down first so I can spot you."

Bruce shook his head. "You're as bad as Silver," he grumbled. "It was a _fluke_ ; I've been up and down this ladder a hundred times without falling."

"If you didn't have a useless arm, I might not be concerned," Bashir said seriously. "And the dead weight could tend to throw you off balance."

Bruce sighed, but remained at the top of the ladder until Dr Bashir's boots touched the floor of the docking bay. He climbed more slowly than usual, acknowledging to himself that the doctor was right and his arm made it more awkward than usual.

"We'll stop by the sickbay first so I can get what I need for your shoulder," Dr Bashir told him.

Bruce merely nodded, becoming aware that once again he felt almost crushingly tired. Fighting to keep his eyes open, he trailed behind the doctor to the sickbay and then to the cabin where he would sleep.

"The captain will want to see you eventually, but he can wait until after you've rested."

Bruce shook his head to clear it. "But that's one thing I don't understand, Doctor; why have I been so tired?"

"For the same reason you would be if you were healing from a major injury the old-fashioned way; your body is devoting much of its energy to 'healing.'"

Bruce nodded slowly. "I guess that makes sense."

"You can't pull off those boots one-handed; sit down and let me help you."

Bruce obeyed, and then Bashir once again helped him remove his shirt. "Can you manage the pants yourself, or do you want help?"

"No…I can," he insisted groggily. "Sure you didn't slip me a sedative, Doc?"

Bashir lightly squeezed his shoulder. "You should start feeling more energy once the trylomase begins to take effect. Here are your pajamas; leave the top off so I can see about your shoulder." He turned his back to give Bruce some privacy, but remained listening for the slightest hint that his aid was needed.

"All set?" he asked cheerily when the movement seemed to have ceased behind him.

"Yeah."

Bashir turned and set something on the table beside the bed. "I'll be in to check on you every so often, and the computer monitors lifesigns in case of emergency, but here's a spare combadge just in case. If you need me, just tap it and ask to speak to me. Now, let's see about getting you a little more comfortable."

He helped Bruce lie down a little on his right side, propping his left arm on pillows. "How's that?"

Bruce's eyes widened in surprise; somehow the doctor had managed to take all the pressure off his shoulder. "Good."

Bashir pulled the blanket to Bruce's waist, then sat on the edge of the bed to treat his shoulder. He squeezed a cool gel over it, covering the area liberally. Then he turned on a small device, and as he ran it above Bruce's shoulder, the gel heated up with a deep, penetrating warmth.

Setting the device aside, Dr Bashir began massaging Bruce's shoulder, kneading the warmth still deeper. Bruce gave an almost involuntary moan of pleasure, and then succumbed to the exhaustion and the wonderfully relaxing feel of the doctor's sure touch.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	6. Doctor's Orders

**Chapter Five: Doctor's Orders**

"The past three scans have shown no changes," Dr Bashir told Bruce several days later. "I'm taking you off the trylomase, and if the scans and blood work still look good this time tomorrow, I'll do the surgery."

"Can't you just do it now?" Bruce questioned.

"Not a good idea," Bashir took him. "The drug needs to clear from your system first; right now your healing rate is _lower_ than average. I'm not operating in those conditions, especially when I can't use a regenerator."

"I don't see why you can't use it and then just put me on the medication again."

Dr Bashir shook his head. "Just suffice it to say that isn't a good idea. I'm performing surgery tomorrow and no sooner, so you might as well stop trying to debate the point."

Bruce sighed. "Whatever you say, Doc," he gave in.

Bashir grinned. "That's what I say. Believe me, I understand your impatience, but if we avoid complications by waiting a day, it will reduce your overall recovery time."

"I'm all for that," Bruce admitted.

 **oOo**

He awoke groggy after the surgery, slowly realizing that his arm lay in a sling against his chest.

"How are you feeling?" Dr Bashir asked brightly, seeing that he was awake.

"Fuzzy…" Bruce mumbled. "I don't remember the stuff the other doctor gave me leaving me feeling like this…"

"Probably a different anesthetic," Dr Bashir guessed. "But I can give you something to counteract the effects now."

Within minutes after the doctor's hypospray, Bruce felt his mind begin to clear. "Thanks."

"No problem. So, how's the arm?"

"A little sore," Bruce admitted.

Bashir smiled sympathetically. "I had to use old-fashioned sutures. And your natural healing isn't up to its usual level; it's going to take a little longer to heal than you're used to — besides being fairly major surgery."

"I don't need to hear about it, thanks," Bruce said quickly, sensing the doctor was about to start going into details. "Just tell me how soon I can get back to Silver."

"Not until I see that it's healed properly," Bashir said firmly. "You may need some physical therapy, too…is your hand still numb?"

Bruce glared. "Are you going to keep me longer if I say yes?"

"Maybe," Bashir admitted. "And you can't try to deny it now; if it wasn't numb you would just have said so."

"It's not that bad," Bruce muttered.

"Better than it was?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Fortunately blood flow was never compromised, but the nerve was compressed for longer than I'm comfortable with, and if you don't regain full feeling with physical therapy within a few days, you may need further surgery."

Bruce sighed. "So how long are we talking, Doc?"

"No sooner than a week," Dr Bashir said firmly. "That's the earliest I can be absolutely sure you've healed correctly."

"A _week_?" Bruce asked in disbelief.

Bashir smiled wryly, shaking his head. "You have it pretty good, you know. In the days of those Old Earth Westerns you seem to want to relive, a broken arm could take up to six weeks to heal."

Bruce said nothing, but his scowl didn't ease and Bashir eyed him thoughtfully, but released him to his quarters without saying what was on his mind.

 **oOo**

Little over an hour later, Dr Bashir made his way to the docking bay and up the ladder to Bruce's ship. "Silver?" he asked a little hesitantly, thinking how odd it felt to be conversing with a spaceship. Data or even Vic at least had a visible human appearance, and while he often spoke to the station computer, somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it could only give answers for which it was programmed. Perhaps Silver simply had a more advanced logarithm, yet somehow he sensed there was more to it than that, just as Vic was far from your average hologram.

He shook off the questions in the split second before Silver answered; if he found talking to a ship too strange, he could always imagine he was talking to an unseen person on his combadge. And he supposed it really wasn't any stranger than some of the lifeforms he had come in contact with and even treated.

"Where is the captain?" Silver questioned. Fancying he heard a hint of a veiled threat in her tone, Bashir found himself wondering what she could or would do to him if he failed to restore her captain to her sound and healthy.

"He's sleeping," he said quickly. "He's fine, Silver, but I'm afraid he's going to try to leave against medical advice."

"I do not understand."

Bashir glanced around the featureless entry where he stood. "May I sit down?"

There was a slight whirring as Silver considered before responding. "Come to the bridge."

"Thank you." Assuming the ship was built on the same basic plan as most of the ones he had seen, Bashir found his way to the bridge with no trouble. Glancing at what was obviously the captain's seat, he chose instead the unused copilot's seat without waiting for Silver's prompting.

"So. What is this 'medical advice'?"

Bashir glanced around, finding he missed eye contact with a patient or concerned family member, and settled for staring at a glowing bank of lights that seemed the most living thing on the bridge. "I 'repaired' your captain, as you put it," he began slowly. "But you understand that in humans, the body continues to make repairs to itself even after a doctor has done all he can."

"Yes."

"I need your captain to stay on my ship until his body finishes repairing itself, so I can be sure it has made all the repairs it needs to."

"That is acceptable."

Bashir grinned a little wryly, wondering just who was really in charge in this strange partnership. "I'm afraid your captain doesn't agree; I have a feeling he's going to leave before I give him permission."

"You wish me to prevent him?"

" _Can_ you, Silver? I mean, he has override codes, doesn't he?"

The background hum increased for an instant, and Bashir was struck with the absurd thought that the ship had just snorted. "I do not have to pay attention to his overrides."

Bashir chuckled. "Thanks, Silver. If he wants to stay on board you, that's fine, but no warping off to the ends of the galaxy until I clear him."

"And how will I know when he is 'clear'?"

"I'll come on board and personally let you know, so don't listen if he tries to tell you I said it was all right."

"Very well."

Dr Bashir stood and patted the console. "I'll see myself out. Thank you again, Silver."

"The gratitude is mine."

 **oOo**

"It's ridiculous keeping me here any longer," Bruce muttered under his breath, trying to keep from being observed as he made his way to the docking bay. "My arm feels fine; even the doctor admits it's healing well." He glanced around the bay, deserted now in the ship's night, and made a dash for Silver's ladder.

"Ah," he sighed in relief when he finally sat in his chair on the bridge. "It's good to be back, Silver."

"It is good to have you back, Captain. But it is late; do you not wish to sleep?"

Bruce shook his head impatiently. "I've been sleeping too much lately; I'm tired of it. Let's…go somewhere."

"Did the doctor give you permission to leave?" Silver questioned.

Bruce shifted uneasily. "He said my arm is healing well," he evaded her question. "I'm fine, Silver, and I've had enough of sitting around doing nothing. Set a course for sector two nine zero," he ordered, picking the numbers at random.

"I will not set a course until you have the doctor's permission to leave."

Bruce's eyes glinted dangerously. "Then I'll lay it in myself. I am still a decent helmsman, you know."

He set the coordinates, but when he pressed the button to engage the engine, nothing happened. "Silver, this is mutiny!" he protested. "I demand that you start the engines, captain's authorization two six three oh one."

"I know your authorization number," Silver told him with maddening calm. "But I do not believe _you_ have authorization to leave."

"The doctor's been here, hasn't he?" Bruce realized. "I should have known he'd get you on his side."

"He said you could sleep on board, if you wish," Silver said helpfully. For a fleeting moment, Bruce wondered what she would have done to evict him if the doctor hadn't given that permission.

"No, thanks," he said sulkily. "No offense, Silver, but I think I'd rather not be on board at all if we're not _going_ anywhere."

"As you wish."

Bruce found himself wishing for once she _would_ take offense; it would make for a more satisfying argument if for once he felt he had managed to rile her.

But it wasn't likely to happen, and he stomped off the bridge, barely remembering to be careful on the ladder as he returned to his quarters on the _Defiant_ , where he lay fuming most of the night.

 **oOo**

"You got my own ship on your side against me!" Bruce growled as soon as he walked into the sickbay the next morning for his daily tests and physical therapy treatment.

Dr Bashir looked up, not at all surprised by his reaction. "On the contrary, I believe she's as much on your side as ever; I simply told her what was best for you."

"It's unfair going behind my back like that!"

"And if I hadn't, just where would you be right now?" Dr Bashir asked mildly. "It's one thing for patients to leave the sickbay against medical advice when they're still on board the ship and I can keep an eye on them; it's another to have a patient warping off who knows how many lightyears away."

"My arm is fine," Bruce said sullenly.

"So far. But the effects of the trylomase haven't worn off yet, so I'm reserving judgment. And you still have the sutures; those won't disappear on their own, you know."

"That doesn't give you any right to sabotage my ship," Bruce insisted.

Dr Bashir shook his head. "I'd hardly call it sabotage. There isn't a thing wrong with Silver; she just understands the concept of 'doctor's orders' a lot better than you do."

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	7. Medic Alert

**Chapter Six: Medic Alert**

Bruce made no more attempts to leave without Dr Bashir's permission, recognizing the futility when Silver was clearly on the doctor's side. He followed Bashir's orders exactly, determined now to gain permission to leave as soon as possible, and it was a day short of the prescribed week when Dr Bashir sat down to talk with him.

"Your arm has progressed nicely; I think it's safe to say I'll be able to let you go tomorrow."

"Ah, but will Silver let me?" Brush asked, scowling.

Dr Bashir chuckled. "I'll come aboard to see you off; I told her I'd tell her in person when you were cleared to leave."

"Didn't trust me, huh?" Bruce grumbled.

Dr Bashir raised an eyebrow. "Should I have?"

"Probably not," Bruce admitted. "Look, don't mind me, Doc; I just get antsy when I'm tied down for too long."

"I noticed," Bashir said dryly. "I do have one more thing to discuss with you."

"What's that?"

"I'd like to implant a tiny chip to trigger a medic alert on any diagnostic scan, so no one will use regenerators on you even if you're unable to tell them about your condition."

"That sounds like a good idea, but how long's it gonna take, Doc? You already promised I could leave tomorrow," he reminded him.

Bashir smiled. "I can do it with a local anesthetic; with your rate of healing, recovery shouldn't take more than an hour."

"All right, then," Bruce agreed. "Do you want to do it now?"

"We might as well; I already programmed the chip to your specific medical condition." He stepped to the computer and unplugged the chip in its injector rod. "Open your shirt," he instructed. "I'm going to implant this near your heart, since that's something any decent doctor or medic will check no matter what your illness or injury."

Bruce obeyed, and the doctor injected a local anesthetic before running a sterilizer over the area. "Can you feel this?" he questioned, touching Bruce's skin with the tip of the injector.

"No."

"Good. There might be a sense of pressure when I implant the chip, but it shouldn't be too uncomfortable."

Bruce nodded. "Go ahead, Doc."

Dr Bashir deftly positioned the tip of the injector and pressed the button. There was a soft hum, and then he was pulling the instrument away.

"That's it?" Bruce asked in surprise.

"No, don't touch it," Bashir said quickly, forestalling Bruce's half raised hand. "I don't want to chance an infection." He sprayed a coat of sealant over the half-inch wound, the cool fluid quickly setting to a transparent film.

"There we go. I'll want to check this in an hour, but there's no reason you should have to hang around sickbay the whole time. The numbing should last a while, but if it starts itching come to me for a reliever; I don't want you scratching."

 **oOo**

Bruce returned to the sickbay for his "appointment" exactly an hour later.

"Prompt, I see," Bashir greeted him with a smile.

Bruce grinned ruefully. "I suppose I was hoping if everything checked out, you might let me go today."

Dr Bashir shook his head. "If it was just the implant I probably could, but I still want to scan your arm one more time tomorrow before fully releasing you."

Bruce shrugged, surprisingly not appearing terribly disappointed. "I didn't really think so, but it was worth hoping. Tomorrow for sure, though?"

"If that last scan looks the way I expect it to, yes, but I'm not going to make an absolute promise. For now, let's concentrate on the implant; open your shirt and let's see."

Bruce quickly unfastened the top three buttons, letting the fabric fall open.

"Does this hurt?" Dr Bashir questioned, pressing his fingers over the now-invisible implant site.

"No."

"It looks good," Dr Bashir told him. "If you ever experience any signs of irritation — pain or itching, redness, swelling — even ten years from now or more, you should have it seen by a doctor immediately. I'm based off the space station Deep Space Nine if you ever want to come to me."

"The Bajoran wormhole," Bruce recognized. "That shouldn't happen, though, should it?"

"No, but once in a while it does, and it can be serious if not taken care of promptly. I may mention it to Silver…" he mused half seriously.

Bruce groaned. "Please, Doctor; she already thinks she knows better than me what's best for me."

"Well, this time she was right," Bashir said mildly. "But enough about that; let's test that chip and make sure it works properly." Picking up his tricorder, he ran it over Bruce's chest as if scanning his heart rate. The device emitted three beeps, quite different from its normal low tone, and Bashir turned it so Bruce could see the message flashing across the screen. MEDIC ALERT, it declared, proceeded by HYPER-ACUTE CELL REGROWTH PATTERN, and finally NO REGENERATORS. It repeated the tones and message once more, ending with another three beeps before showing Bruce's heart rate. "I can override it to show the heart rate at any time, if necessary," Bashir explained, switching the tricorder off. "It's compatible with all Starfleet and Federation scanners and most other versions; it's also language sensitive."

"What if I get hurt on a planet that doesn't have scanners?" Bruce questioned, realizing even as he spoke that he didn't intend to be hurt badly enough to need a doctor ever again.

"For your particular condition, I wouldn't worry about it," Dr Bashir assured him. "If they don't have scanning devices, they're not likely to use regenerators."

"I guess that's true," Bruce admitted, swiftly rebuttoning his shirt. "Thanks again, Doc."

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	8. Artificial Intelligence

**Chapter Seven: Artificial Intelligence**

"So, am I clear for departure?" Bruce asked impatiently the next day.

"I'd say so," Dr Bashir agreed. "Though I'm telling Silver to bring you back if you have any hint of relapse."

Bruce groaned. "You've got to be _kidding_ me, Doc."

"Actually, I've been thinking…if you're alone on board most of the time, it might not be a bad idea to give her EMH capabilities."

"No way," Bruce said firmly. "You know how much she fusses over me as it is?"

The doctor shrugged. "Well, it was just a thought. I am curious, though; is she actually sentient or does she just have really good artificial intelligence?"

Bruce grinned wryly. "I've often wondered that myself. I suppose there's a very fine line between the two…I like to think she's sentient, but just when I have myself convinced she does or says something more in line with artificial intelligence."

"Well, I don't suppose it really matters," Bashir dismissed. "What I _do_ want to do is upload your medical record to her computer banks so that a doctor can ask her for additional information if it's ever necessary. And you should also get a Starfleet-issue emergency medkit rated for Saratarians; that way the next time you refuse medical assistance, you can at least give yourself first aid."

Bruce nodded slowly. "Good idea; maybe then Silver won't insist on rushing me to a doctor the next time I have as much as a sniffle."

Bashir chuckled. "You know, I could tell her how gauge whether or not you actually need a doctor."

"Don't think I don't know you two are ganging up, Doc; you _want_ her worrying over my every little cut."

The doctor chuckled again. "Actually, I was thinking that if I told her how bad a cut had to be to need medical attention, she might leave you alone about the lesser ones."

"You might have something there," Bruce admitted.

"I assume she has basic lifesign monitoring capabilities?"

"I guess so; I never really had cause to find out. Not that I _want_ her monitoring my every breath, mind you."

"I daresay she has been anyway," Dr Bashir said dryly. "I'll just let her know what normal vitals are for Saratarians, what bears watching, and what warrants getting you to a doctor. She might 'fuss' at you to give yourself first aid, but I don't think she'll overreact too badly."

"If _you_ tell her I'm all right, probably not; my own ship trusts you more than she does me."

"She knows you too well," Dr Bashir teased.

" _You_ think she's sentient," Bruce realized.

"Or so close it makes no difference. Come on, then; let's go tell her you're free to leave."

 **oOo**

Dr Bashir remained on board Silver for an hour before saying his farewells to both captain and ship. He lingered at the docking bay viewscreen, watching Silver grow ever smaller until she went to warp and disappeared from sight, in search of people to rescue, he knew. "Happy trails, Silver," he murmured. "Here's hoping you can save the day."

The End

 **A/N: My next Deep Space Nine story (after a couple short Twilight ones) will be a crossover with the 1960s British TV show The Avengers (involving time travel, obviously!) Barbie**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


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